An Utterly Useless Meeting And Japan's Stupid Fan
by 0mohni0
Summary: Exactly what the title says. PURE CRACK.


Germany decided his luck was screwed. It was the middle of a meeting where _most people_ were actually cooperating (coughItalycough) and the power went like 'BAM'.

Well, not actually 'bam'.

More like, 'psssht'.

The sound of traditional Japanese lutes played in the background as Japan, in the height of his glory, spoke quietly: "It's a power outage."

Germany suppressed a groan as Italy, who had previously been sleeping in the background, effectively woke up and let out a high-pitched scream.

Japan's cool voice whispered something he didn't catch and Italy calmed down. He could imagine how Italy would be looking right now—he'd been confronted with that scared-face too many times to forget.

...Italy was so pathetic. But kinda cute. (He'd always liked helpless things. Like little puppies. Others kicked them—he gave them army training and employed them in his kickass army.) But really _really_ pathetic.

Lutes (from an unknown location) played some graceful tune and Japan said, "I'll go see to the matter."

Germany grunted. "A-ah. Thanks, Japan." A thin layer of perspiration had already formed over his forehead; damn it—_why_ was it so goddamn stuffy in Japan's house?! Japanese houses weren't supposed to be this goddamn stuffy....right?

Ludwig thought it over a few times, before coming to the conclusion that he knew very little about Japan. Like where he hid those flutists, for example. (He wasn't even sure you called a flute-player a flutist.)

He had to find out someday. Someday. Not today. Not today, because all he could think of was the unbearable heat in that stuffy, stifling room. It didn't help that he on an army jacket suited for German temperatures.

Japan quietly got up and paced outside the door—oh, why—dammit _why?!—_did he have to close the door!?

Germany's eyebrow ticked; he knew that his patience was going to explode. From anger. Or heat.

"Ve~Germany~!"

Germany tried to suppress a groan. And possibly, a shriek of outrage coupled with ploughing through the wall.

"It's hot, isn't it, Germany~?"

"Yeah."

"Then take off your coat~!"

"Alright." He had long since learned that the best way to get Italy to stop using those puppy-eyes at him (even if he couldn't see them right now) was to go along with what he said. Of course, Italy's ideas (and his eyes) had been responsible for getting Germany in lots of tight places too. If he started counting—_the time he had almost been captured by Britain because Feliciano had called him an ocean away, complaining (crying) that he couldn't tie his shoelaces_—he'd never be able to—_the time Italy had convinced him to try his pasta made of sand; he'd never gotten worse food poisoning_—get through them all—_when Italy had decided to take all of Germany's clothes (even the underwear Austria patched) and dyed it pink—_even in the first year!

His hair was falling in his eye, and he shot the infuriating lock of blonde hair a withering look, before growling ferociously.

"Grrrrrrrrrr—

"—Germany? Why're you growling~?"

He snapped out of his intrinsic growling session and to blink at Italy in the dark. It was only then when he realized that he couldn't see Italy's face...or any other part of him, for that matter.

He sighed. "Because it's hot. And my hair keeps on falling in my face."

"Oo~! Do you want a hair band~?" Ludwig's eye twitched at the mental image of himself wearing a pink and glittery hair band with 'P-A-S-T-A!" spelled out in large white sparkles.

"No thank you." He replied in a clipped tone, hoping his voice was scary enough to substitute for the glare he couldn't give Italy. Purely because it was dark, and not in any way because sweat in his eyes was rendering him completely unable to see. Nope. The great Germany didn't _have_ weaknesses.

Yeah. Um...back to the scary voice. Germany couldn't help the mental smirk that spread from imagining Italy's face right now—he always found it cute even if he had yelled at Feliciano all day, through the meeting, through training, through his pasta-filled antics, Italy always came crawling back to him.

It made him feel kinda important. But mostly smug. Italy was so dependant on him! The warm thought filled him with the desire to roll around gleefully on the floor like he used to do in his childhood.

Just as he was about to give in (just a little bit!) he was interrupted by Italy's voice. "Germany~! Are you still hot~?"

"Yes." He grumbled, grumpy at not being able to roll around.

"Really~?"

"Yes."

"Like, how _much_ hot~?" Germany gaped in the darkness. His eyes narrowed, and his voice shook with emotion. "Italy..."

"Yes~?" The voice came from the darkness.

A dark aura surrounded Germany—"Have you been talking to France?!" He was going to kill France for filling Feliciano's mind with perverted French stuff.

"Nope~!" Ok, he was going to kill that perverted France anyways.

"Besides, France-san says he's turned non-pervert now~...." Still.

"Japan says that he hasn't even made one weird comment at the last meeting~!" Germany didn't believe it. Not the 'one comment' part, nor the 'non-pervert' stuff. He invented French-kissing, for heaven's sake!

"Germany~?"

He snapped out of brainstorming ways to blow France's face in and blinked at where he hoped Italy was.

"Are you still hot?"

Germany's eyes narrowed, vowing to kill France the next time he set his eyes on him—

"Because I have this handfan~......"

"Y-you do?" His voice sounded too hopeful, even to him.

"Japan's so resourceful, ne~?"

"Err....Italia, where is the fan?"

"In my hand~!"

"Err....where's your hand?"

"Attatched to my arm~!" Germany refused to let himself slap himself on the forehead.

"No, as in _where_."

Italy gasped. "Germany~! You're blind~!"

At this, Ludwig allowed himself to groan. And slap his forehead.

"No, idiot. It's _dark_!"

"Really~? I can see fine~!" Although Germany couldn't see Italy flailing his arms, he could _imagine_ it, and the mental image wasn't very pleasing.

"See~?"

"I already told you, it's too—"

"This is your arm~ this is your nose~ this is your stomach~!" Italy had crawled over from wherever he was before and had started poking various parts of Germany.

The blonde nation blushed furiously (thanking goodness, for once, that the power was out) and tried to swat away Italy's hands before they got anywhere _else.  
_He succeeded in slapping him. He really couldn't tell which part of Italy he had just killed, but thanks to Feliciano's inability to remain quiet about anything he quickly found out.

"Aaah~!" Oh god, Feliciano even sang while crying!

"Germany~! You slapped me~!"

Ludwig was just about to apologize when Italy starting ranting full speed and he couldn't even hear his own thoughts, let alone what he was trying to say.

"You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! Germany~!"

He was just about to thank god that Itlay had stopped chanting 'you slapped me' when he had to face palm.

"Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~!"

Oh _hell_ no.

"Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~!"

"Oh, just SHUT UP!" He snapped, and Italy stopped whining at the top of his voice, only to sniffle after every millisecond.

Germany though the situation over. Was Feliciano _trying_ to guilt-trip him?! (Mental gasp) That guilttripper!

That bastard France.

Ludwig let out a sigh of defeat to the guilt welling up inside his heart (Italy's sentimentalality was _so_ rubbing off on him) and gently called the brunette's name.

"Italia."

"Sniff..."

"Italia, come here."  
"Sniff..."

"Italia..."

"Sniff..."

"Don't be difficult, Italia."

"Sniff..." Germany felt something brush his arm and he immediately tugged at it, succeeding in bringing about a large crash.

"Ahaa...that...wasn't the antique vase...that Japan had...right....?" He asked airily, trying not to imagine the look of cold fury in painted in the normally tame Asian's eyes.

To his surprise, Italy began laughing. It started with just another sniffle, but turned into a hiccup, and dissolved in helpless laughter.

Germany's face heated up—he didn't like being laughed at. "O-Oi! Italia! Stop that!"

"Germany's so clumsy, ve~!"

Oh god, was Feliciano devoid of _all_ tact?!

"S-Shut up!"

"...." It took a few seconds for the brunette nation to process this, before—"Sniff."

"You are _not_ starting that up again."

"Sniff."

"Italia."

"Sniff."

"I'm warning you..."

"Sniff."

Before Italy could start his rhythm of 'sniff, wail, cry, Germany!' the blonde nation groped around in the pitch dark and pulled something which felt like a head towards him.

"Come here..." He muttered, trying to find Italy's face so he could prop him up against himself or the wall. Or something. Or France's dead body—he smirked at the thought, before the smile turned upside down.

That idiot was probably even going to be perverted when he was dead...he didn't want Italy going in a five-mile radius of that— Italy interrupted his thoughts by squirming out his Germany's grip in his head and crawling on the blonde's lap.

"O-Oi! _Italia_!" His face heated up; he hoped that his voice didn't sound _too_ scandalized. He held a distaste for the word ever since America had teased in a World Meeting that all did Britain did when he tried to kiss him in public was go red and shout 'Ameri-_ca!_' in that 'endearing scandalized way'.

"Germany~! I'm hot~!" That settled it. France was going to _die._

"Could you fan~? My hand huuuuuuurts~!"

"And my head." Germany muttered, but Italy didn't catch it and nuzzled against the blonde's chest.

After five minutes of meticulously noting the enticing (He didn't think that. Not at all.) way Italy's hair moved with ever stroke of air he waved in their direction, Germany began to get bored. Sure, Italy was warm, but right now, he didn't really want warmth.

...And his hand hurt.

After half an hour, the pain was unbearable. If Japan was here, he would say something about—actually, he wouldn't say anything.

Germany sighed, and shifted the fan to his other hand, before realizing that he'd just shifted it the former hand a minute ago.

"Italia."

"Hmmm~?"

"Your turn." Germany made to hand the fan over to the brunette, but Italia waved it away. "We'll take hour-hour turns, ok~?"

"........But—"Ludwig began, when Italy cut him off. "Pleeeeeeeease~?"

"Fine." He huffed, and flapped the fan vigorously, only to be completely wiped out after three minutes.

What followed was a tedious process: Up down up down up down up down drop-fan pick-fan up down up down change hand up down up down accidentally-smack-himself-in-the-nose-with-the-damn-thing up down up down up......

When the hell had Japan informed them that he would be going on vacation under the cover of going to change a fuse, again?

Oh, right. He **didn't**.

Damnit.

Although Germany couldn't tell the time, he calculated that it had been over an (tedious, excruciating) hour and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Oi, Italia."

The brown-haired man mumbled something and nuzzled closer to Germany's shoulder, asleep.

Damn.

"I'm not doing this!" Germany threw the fan down, and sat with a pout (although he would never admit it) for approximately three minutes before the searing, stifling heat forced him to greedily snatch up the fan again.

"Damn it all...." He grumbled, and started fanning, once again focusing his eyes on Italy's vacant, content expression and the way his hair waved in the Germany-generated air.

And that was how he ended up fanning for three hours straight.

In his mind, the three hours were completely wasted. He didn't find where Japan hid his flutists (the ones that burst into a cheerful song when he came back into the room bearing a candle and news that the entire house had been short-circuited).

Nor did he train. Or plan. Or kill France. Or mash potatoes.

....Damn.

And his hands felt _dead._

A/N: Errr...Don't look at me like that!

Ok, ok, I realize that this has NO plot what-so-ever, but this was to release exam stress. So...BLAME MY EXAMS! (And wish me luck!)

Review or I'll eat your brain. (Do you study alot? Good. I'll eat it and GET SMARTER AND RULE THE WORLD—ahem. Yeah. Right. I'll just....go...take...my...insanity...meds now....)

REVIEW!


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